


Fýrgebræc

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Forced Marriage, Implied Murder, Moral Ambiguity, Pretended Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King's oldest son is touched in the head. Everybody knows it. A marriage to him is a punishment for any maiden in the land. It comes as no surprise then that the King, once he has captured the errant knight of the tourney and seen the face behind the helm, would order Lyanna Stark to embrace that very marriage.</p><p>AU! The debacle concerning the Knight of the Laughing Tree has far quicker and more reaching consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

 

Lyanna picked up her pace, breath coming in short gasps, as she hurried across the field of dewy grass and meadow flowers. Even dressed for riding she could not escape. The thought wrapped itself around her mind, the hold strong, inexorable, frightening. Lyanna was chilled to the marrow of her bones by it. _She could not escape._ Still, she had to try. Perhaps the gods would take pity on her and allow her to live through the ordeal.

Behind her the sound of hooves pounding the earth grew stronger and louder. If she could only reach her horse. But nay, such dreams were not to be. The maiden dared a look behind. Her pursuers were nearly upon her. For a brief moment a strange thought crossed her mind. She should give up. She should simply cease running and allow herself to fall to the ground and be caught and bound. What was the worse they could do to her?

Just at that moment, a hand grabbed hold of her tunic and wrenched her to an abrupt halt. One of her legs caught on a stone and Lyanna started falling. Instinctively, she pushed her arms forth, thinking to lessen the blow. But she never made it to the ground. Instead, another rider came to block any path to escape.

She was hoisted off the ground and thrown over a saddle with all the grace a sack of grain might display. The movement, however, had been enough to cut off Lyanna's air supply. The words that followed nearly stopped her heart. "Do not struggle. The King will see you now."

The King, the madman. Lyanna cursed her ill-fate and her desire to help. She should have kept well away. Alas, hindsight was ever clearer and more than useless in such circumstances. "Ser, this must be a mistake," she tried to speak, hoping that perhaps her plight might make an impression upon them.

"'Tis no mistake, maiden." The assured answer made her want to punch the knight. Were knights not supposed to be gallant and help ladies? Clearly the Kingsguard operated with very different requirements. "'Twas you who carried that shield, lady, and it was our mission to find you. That is all and there can be no mistake."

But there was. Lyanna glowered and bit her lower lip to keep from doing something that might ruin her house. Her actions could construe female folly. If the truth was known, however, her whole family might suffer from it. Aye, 'twas best for all involved if she braved the King once. Meanwhile, she could occupy her time with throwing silent invectives towards the knight who'd captured her. Lyanna could not believe she had actually admired the man. More the fool she.

Arthur Dayne might be good with a lance, but he was no more and no less than a brute. Like his brethren. And she was at their mercy. Lyanna decided then and there that when she managed to see her brothers again, she would cut them all to bits.

Until then, she would concern herself with surviving the King and his wrath.

* * *

Lyanna had never considered herself foolishly brave. She knew when to fear and she knew when to pull back from the flame. Except she had just made it clear that she didn't, that she was foolishly brave and she just might pay for it with her life if the King's face was anything to go by.

As she stared in the sunken violet eyes, it occurred to the sole daughter of Winterfell that she was too young to die. She was just four-and-ten, for the love of the gods. Four-and-ten and dead. It was not fair. She had so much left to do. She wanted to wed – not Robert, if it could be helped – and have children of her own to whom she might teach her riding skills, how to climb a tree and a great other number of things.

But by the look on the King's face, she would have none of that. Lyanna resisted the urge to allow her teeth to clatter. She might be afraid to death, but she would not show it.

King Aerys was in the middle of a tirade from which Lyanna had understood bits and pieces; specifically those that concerned chopping, flaying and burning. Her stomach constricted painfully. He should at least leave something of her to bury. It was only decent.

"Your Grace," a soft voice cut in, distracting Lyanna from her morbid thoughts, "if I may." Her eyes came to a short, rotund man who sported no hair on his head and looked at the world through a pair of beady eyes. The long robes and soft-looking hands rather put Lyanna in the mind of a scribe. But the man was not one such. In truth, Lyanna knew him to be the one they called the Spider.

"Speak," the King grudgingly allowed.

"Mayhap I might suggest something," he began. "This here lady is Lyanna of House Stark." The King hadn't known. Lyanna nearly swooned. He would have had her executed like a common criminal. "She is Lord Stark's daughter." Lord Stark who had so very recently refused an invitation to sit the King's council. Lyanna shuddered.

"I see your meaning." The King's words brought a painful jolt quivering through Lyanna. She did not see the meaning and it was vital for her to. "I daresay it is quite clever." The maiden wondered if king and servant shared a mind. "Say, Lady Lyanna," the crowned head began mockingly, "what would you be willing to do to ensure that this little escapade does not end in a bloodbath?" Insane and scheming. Lyanna was duly impressed.

The correct answer was not unknown to her. Still, she had to force herself to speak it. "Anything Your Grace commands," she said between clenched teeth, pride she didn't know she possessed crushed beneath the weight of fear. The North could not stand alone and no one would take her side in this.

"Well, at least she is not stupid," the King was murmuring. "Call her brother, the eldest one."

It was difficult to say what Brandon thought the moment he stepped into the room to see his sister dressed in man's clothes, kneeling at the King's feet. It was even more difficult to discern what crossed his mind when his eyes landed on the painted shield with a laughing weirwood tree very much visible.

"Brandon Stark," the King spoke, his face waxen, pale and sickly, "it seems your sister has done quite a remarkable feat. She has fooled us all." There was no escaping it. Brandon had been watching the melee when the unknown knight had acted the defender. He would not know truth from lie. "You do know that I have declared the mystery knight a traitor, do you not?"

And then something happened which Lyanna had not thought possible. Her brother lowered himself to his knees and prostrate before the King, he pleaded for her life. "Your Grace, my sister is just a foolish child. She is unknowing and meant no harm. I beg that you would spare her life."

"Spare her life, you say." The man liked inflicting pain. Lyanna forced her eyes to the ground. He was toying with them. "There is one way I might consider this request. The lady is in your care here, is she not?"

"Aye, Your Grace," Brandon replied, looking hopeful. Lyanna wanted to kick him for it.

"Then I shall propose the following, to ensure the loyalty of your house, allow this here woman," he pointed to Lyanna, one long nail coming dangerously close to her eye it seemed to her, "to enter my house."

There were a few ways to do that and none of them appealed to Lyanna overly much. Brandon offered a weak protest. "Your Grace, my sister has been promised to Lord Baratheon."

The King waved a hand dismissively. "By my order the deal shall be broken."

"Your Grace, if it be allowed, who would take my sister then?" Her brother was concerned, as he should be. Lyanna wondered briefly what the King's aim was.

"Why, my firstborn, of course."

* * *

The King had two children by his long-suffering and, to Lyanna's mind, extraordinary wife. The first was called Rhaegar, the second Viserys. It was a saying very popular within the Kingdoms that when a Targaryen was born the gods flipped a coin. This coin, far from being forged by any king's order, sported two sides, opposites of one another. The first lent itself to greatness, and such Targaryens had been prosperous kings, the other to madness, and such Targaryens were the nightmare of the realm.

The King's firstborn had, by some unfortunate circumstance, fallen in the second category. To put it politely, he never evolved any farther than the age of childhood. He was slow, dim-witted and quite unfit to ever rule. Which was exactly why the King had overlooked him in the succession and declared that his second born was to inherit.

What he meant by the alliance suggested was to humiliate House Stark.

But Lyanna had decided she would do anything for her life and that of her family. Thus, she begged of Brandon to accept. "Would you rather that we all die?" she'd hissed at his hesitancy.

"I see, Your Grace. House Stark would be honoured," Brandon had answered in the end.

The King's triumphant look was nearly too much for Lyanna to bear.

* * *

Robert looked like he had swallowed something vile. "You," he rasped, looking at his erstwhile betrothed. "How could you?"

Lyanna would have fainted with glee at the purple hue which stole over his features had she not been sworn on best behaviour by an enraged Brandon. Putting on an appropriately saddened mien, she looked at Robert with begging eyes. "My lord, I am so very sorry."

"You have shamed me before the realm. What manner of woman garbs herself in chainmail and plate of armour to joust, if she be not savage?" Music to her ears, Lyanna was not sure if she could keep her joy to herself. "I trusted Ned. I trusted him when he said his sister might prove my match."

His disappointment was like a balm. Certainly, she would be wed to a dimwit. But at least that one would have an excuse for his faults. "I cannot bear this, my lord," Lyanna forced the words out her mouth, trying her best to channel contrition. "Pray leave me."

"Oh, I shall, fear not." What he said next was something that made Lyanna blush to the tips of her ears. Thankfully, she hadn't been allowed to remain alone with him. From another corner of the room, Eddard stood to his feet and walked towards them.

"Robert, enough. This situation is unpleasant enough as it is." Her dear brother, Lyanna thought, as she watched him take Robert towards the door. He had good reason to fear.

When he returned, she was still sitting in her place, yet a smile had curled her lips upwards. "How? What is there to smile about, sister?" He was not angry. He could not be, he had no right. After all, he was as much to blame as she. "We have lost an important alliance."

She could care less about that. Lyanna gave him a long look. "Have you ever considered that I might think kinder of a madmen than I might of an atrocious one?" At that, Ned turned upon her with a glare. "Oh, do not take on so. I've told you time and again that if ever I had the choice, I would choose to bestow my hand elsewhere."

"And a dimwit shall be to your satisfaction?" He was cross, she understood. Robert was his friend. "I never dreamt it would end like this. I would not have done it had I known."

"But you have. And here we are." Lyanna finally stood to her feet. "I care not for your regrets. We are safe and mayhap nothing else matters for now."

* * *

Little Viserys Targaryen stood before her a curious look upon his face. "So you are the one my father wants to wed my brother to." There was no pleasure or displeasure in that statement. They were words, plain and simple.

"Aye, Your Grace." Lyanna, in turn, studied the Prince of Dragonstone. He looked similar to his father, or what his father might have looked like if he took the time to comb his hair and cut his nails. House Targaryen was known for its splendid specimens,

"There is but one thing I would have you know." For one so young, he was awfully serious. "I love my brother, Lady Lyanna. There is no other like him." A warning. Lyanna smiled. "Believe what you will, my lady, but know this, I shall be king one day and a king's power is absolute."

How strange. He was usually so very self-possessed when in company, this child carrying a heavy burden. "I understand, Your Grace." But she was not yet so cruel, nor so heartless as to harm one who could not defend himself. "What exactly would you have of me?"

"Kindness." Not an easy task. Lyanna blinked slowly. "He is not well, my brother. Kindness is all you have to give him."

"Then it is what I shall give to him." Not a marriage meant for songs, but Lyanna supposed it could have been far worse.

"Words, my lady. We shall see how actions compare." He left her afterwards to think over the conversation and try finding some hidden meaning.

* * *

_Do what you must._ That had been father's response to Brandon's letter. It came by raven. Lyanna was not at all surprised. Rickard Stark was not a man to flounder. He had assessed the situation and determined the best solution was compliance. And so they would do.

Lyanna had not been allowed to ride, of course, for fear that someone might attempt to hamper the King's plans. She had, instead, been coerced into sharing a wheelhouse with her future good-brother. The child had more of his father in him than Lyanna would have thought. Still, this was her lot and she would endure.

Her father's words had been that she should do as she must and Lyanna would do exactly that. It was a deal. A deal that she made with herself the moment Ser Dayne threw her upon his horse. Anything and everything, that was what she was willing to do for her life and that of her house. And if that made her a sinner, then so be it.

Placidly, she kept her eyes on the outside world, watching one side of the road without a word. They would reach King's Landing soon. And she would meet her fate at a long last. Lyanna drew in a shaky breath.

"Is aught amiss, my lady?" the young Prince questioned looking away from his wooden soldiers.

"Nay, Your Grace," she assured him. "What could possibly be amiss?" A thin smile stretched her lips. What indeed, she thought ruefully. There was no room for any such nonsense.

* * *

Brandon helped her out of the wheelhouse with a deft hand. "A moment, sister," he whispered, adjusting her cloak slightly. "There is something I want you to know."

Lyanna caught onto his arm and offered a small smile. "Nay, do not." She had guessed his meaning well enough without having to hear the words. She could not hear them. "I do it for all of us, Brandon, but mostly for myself. You see, I do not wish to die."

"How simple you make it sound." So Ned had told him. Lyanna was not entirely surprised. She nodded quickly. "I have misjudged you." And that was all the apology he would ever offer upon the subject. Understanding that fully well, Lyanna let go of his arm, the bitter sting of tears upon her.

"Look what you have done now," she murmured hoarsely. "I am to meet my husbands. I cannot look like a watering pot." Not that it would matter to the man she was to wed. All the same it was for herself that she wished to look dignified. "Come, we should away before night comes."

And they spoke no more of it, nor would they again until late into their lives when both would be proud parents. For the time being, however, the Stark siblings had more pressing concerns to attend to. "Do you think I shall manage?" Lyanna questioned, in a strange moment of vulnerability. "I've never thought of my marriage in such terms as the ones that will serve for it now."

"I think you shall do well," Brandon insisted, his thumb rubbing circled into the back of her hand. "By all accounts, Rhaegar Targaryen is simple, but not as his father in the least. I daresay you shall have the husband all women dream of." At her questioning glance he chuckled. "He will listen to everything you say and do your bidding without question."

And she should wilt and die in want of a challenge. Lyanna smiled back nonetheless. Better him than Robert who would bridle her and make her ill with an unsuitable role. "I pray it be so." His encouragement meant a lot to her. Lyanna squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture fondly. "It seems I shall wed before you, brother. And you were so very proud to be the fist."

"I think my bride will understand." The nonchalant reply put a frown on Lyanna's face. "None of that."

* * *

Rhaegar Targaryen could have easily been a giant. Lyanna watched the man with the placid expression. He had half hidden himself behind the Queen who was a full head shorter than him. It would have been amusing, had that not been her future husband. Ah, but fate spared no one. Lyanna dropped into a formal curtsy before the Queen and her entourage, trying her hardest not to appear like she was gawking although the gods knew she was.

Had it not been for previous knowledge and the expression forever ingrained upon the oldest prince's face, Lyanna would have had a hard time naming the man witless. He was handsome as most Targaryens, with a river of silver-blonde tresses and striking deep violet eyes. That made Lyanna decidedly uncomfortable. He was a boy in a man's body. Likely, he knew not what was expected of him regarding her. The thought made Lyanna queasy.

"What are you hiding for?" the King boomed. "Come out now and meet your bride." Rhaegar pouted at his father's words, but did as he was told, stepping out from behind his mother gingerly. Lyanna could see the worry in the Queen's eyes. Her resolve did not falter though.

She would make him a kind wife, the she-wolf decided as she watched him approach cautiously. She would not lay blame on him for what could not be helped. Aye, Lyanna would try to help if she could.

"Bride, Your Grace?" His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "For me?" He looked at her then. The shock of it nearly sent her reeling. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest and Lyanna could not help but frown. Aye, it was plain enough that her body recognised him for a man, even as her mind battled the notion.

The King did not look pleased. "Aye, boy. She's yours. What are you waiting for, lady?"

A special signal, she supposed. But she was not going to get one of those. Lyanna's arm fell away from her brother and she stepped towards the Prince. Again, she curtsied, not as deep as before. "May I?" she questioned, her hand resting upon his arm without waiting for a reply. He flinched and she nearly drew away. But then he relaxed.

"Your Grace," she said slowly, "you and I shall be spending a lot of time together. I thought it would be pleasant if we could know one another a bit beforehand so I have travelled here to meet you." It was as far from the truth as could be, but Lyanna did not know what else to say.

"Go on then," the King groused. "Be off with you. Take her to the gardens or wherever you deem fit."

"Would that please my lady?" Rhaegar asked of her absently.

"The gardens?" His voice had been different, for just a moment. Or mayhap she'd dreamt it. "I should love to see the gardens."

Not that there was much to see, Lyanna was certain. Winter was upon them again. Flowers would have wilted already. She took Rhaegar's arm and fixed her hand in its crook. She wondered how she was to live her life with him, this man who was more child than anything else.

"Tell me of yourself, Your Grace. What do you like to do? What pleases you?" If she knew anything of children then that was that they loved to talk about themselves. It ought to keep him busy and give her time to contemplate. Aye, that should do very well indeed.

* * *

Rhaegar wondered if he ought to run away. His obvious problems had kept him relatively safe at court, to the point where he was not burdened by anything. And then came Lyanna Stark. They actually wanted to wed her to him. Due to his state of mind, a wedding hadn't been discussed since his father had chosen his brother as heir. For who could possibly wish to become the wife of a dimwit? And that had suited Rhaegar.

It started a long time ago, he supposed, his role. It began with a vision of sorts. A vision that had scared out of him all desire to rule, be loved and revered. It had been of him, he knew, from the way the other man in it roared his name. They were fighting, somewhere near a river. And he lost that fight, his chest crushed, rubies and blood spilling everywhere. And Rhaegar did not want that. He did not wish to die.

So he had started pretending. Slowly, but surely, he slipped into his mask until no one could distinguish it for what it was. He was not sorry for it. Better they think him a clawless dragon than try to kill him for his power.

Lyanna Stark had ruined that. If she was to be his wife, then he would likely have no peace, nor much means of concealing the truth from her. Yet he would have to attempt it. For all of them. He would have to keep his secret or end up as he'd been in his vision, a corpse in bloody waters.

* * *

Arthur was already waiting for him in the narrow tunnel. "Your Grace," he greeted in hushed tones, resting his frame against an uneven wall. This was the only living being he trusted with his secret. And for good reasons. "What exactly do you wish to know?"

"Why her?" His father had tried only once before to arrange a marriage for him, and that had ended up in failure. "Was she not to wed Robert Baratheon?"

"Aye," Arthur confirmed. "It is a longer, more complicated story, but in short, we had an unusual competitor at the tourney and for some reason the King was convinced someone plotted against him. Thus we were ordered to find the knight and bring him before His Grace." The Kingsguard sighed. "We found the shield on her. The only evidence. It was enough to convince the King of her guilt."

"He means to keep the Starks in check." Close enough to watch, in a position they could not protest to, but one that did not give them actual power, not even the illusion of it. A clever plan. "At least we know that insanity does not remove wiliness from man no more than punishment would. What sort of woman is she?"

"Brave, wilful. She is trouble, my friend," Arthur told him with a smile. "Her loyalty is to her family."

"As it should be." Rhaegar nodded his head. "I shall wait then and see how this plays out."

"A wise decision, no doubt." Arthur moved away from the wall.

* * *

His mother watched him with sad eyes. "She seems a good woman, this Lady Lyanna. I am certain you shall get on well." He watched her back with uncertainty and feigned innocence. "The Starks are of the North, my child. What do you know of the North?"

Gods, he did not think she wished to know. Rhaegar leaned into her touch as she combed long fingers through his hair. "They worship the old gods there." It was frowned upon by the religion of the Seven, but Rhaegar could care less. "It snows all the time there, no matter the season."

"Aye, I daresay your bride shall find our winter close to her summer." His mother worried. She worried that Lyanna would treat him poorly. She worried that he would not please the King even in this. She worried, as all mothers were wont to, for her son. And he could do nothing to ease her burden.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he was a fiend of the lowest order. It was selfish of him to pretend as he was. It was more than that; it was cruel. He knew it caused his mother pain. Alas, the instinct of survival ran far stronger in him than he would have wished. He wanted to live, the throne be damned.

"Do you like her, my son?" Rhaella continued to stroke his tresses. "Is she someone you shall be content with?" That he could not answer. His mother sighed. "My poor child."

Rhaegar though he would be content enough with her. Lyanna Stark hadn't seemed of a mind to cause trouble, if only for the safety of her family. She would likely ignore him for most of the time and see to her own needs.

* * *

"A child?" Rhaegar could hardly believe his ears. "In two year's time, she must breed or my father will have her and her family executed?" That certainly complicated matters. "Are you sure, Dayne?"

"That is what I heard. I would not presume to know His Grace's mind. He might yet decide one year to be more than enough." An apologetic look took over his friend's face. "She hasn't learned of it yet. But she will be told."

"I daresay the maiden shan't be pleased." Which woman would be? Rhaegar shook his head to dislodge the thought. "I suppose there is no escaping it." The King meant to tie the Starks with the strongest bonds he was capable of finding. It was understandable and worrisome. "Were there any specific requirements mentioned besides a time limit?"

The Kingsguard shook his head. "A couple of years is not a lot of time. The girl is just four-and-ten." Barely older than his own mother had been when giving birth to him, Rhaegar considered. "I know not what to make of the King's plan."

"We must wait for the right moment, Dayne. And it is not now." He waved away his friend's concern. Aye, the King would be taken care of, but not rashly. Rhaegar needed to be careful.

* * *

Lyanna shifted uncomfortably, covered in a simple linen chemise as she was. The Queen watched her impassively as the other women took measurements. A wedding gown was apparently needed and it had to be made from scratch as none of the ones she had with her were of any use, being too plain, too old, or too dark for the occasion. Lyanna did not truly understand why it mattered, she did not think anyone would pay it mind. They would probably be much too busy speculating.

Alas the Queen was not in agreement and so Lyanna was to suffer through a fitting. At least she had a choice in which materials she liked best, and the colours, provided that they were not too dark. "This one would bring out your eyes best," one of the seamstress' helpers told her, holding up a lustrous piece of cloth embroidered with a delicate flower pattern, tastefully unobtrusive. The soft grey tone helped matters too. Lyanna reached out and touched a finger to the smooth surface, tracing a vine's path.

"It is very pretty." She looked with just a hint of doubt towards the Queen. Rhaella Targaryen did not speak much. And the two Septas that were forever in her company did not help at all as far as she was concerned. They rather put Lyanna at unease. "Your Grace, I like this one best."

"An appropriate choice," Rhaella approved. She held her own hand out and the helper passed the cloth to her. "Aye, this should command attention with its details." And take it off of her son. Lyanna did not say that out loud, but she understood the Queen would have been thinking somewhere along the same lines. "Very well, let us use this then. I expect it shan't take anymore than a few days at best."

The seamstress looked horrified and Lyanna felt sorry for her. It would be much work, to be sure.

"Aye, Your Grace," the woman said, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

* * *

"He is my son and, even in spite of his condition, I love him more than my own life." They were quiet words. They were warning words. Lyanna blinked, her eyes resting on the reflection in the looking glass. The Queen stood behind her, half a head taller, fingers coiled painfully around Lyanna's arm. "Wherever the King may grant you keep, I will know all that goes on."

A mother through and through, a true dragon. Lyanna inclined her head, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. It was not the moment. "I mean him no harm."

"I care not what you mean, Lady Lyanna. I care what your actions are." A young boy had told her something similar a lifetime ago. "Hurt him, even a little, and I shall repay you tenfold." An out and out threat.

"And if I bring him joy?" The Queen looked doubtful. Lyanna lowered her gaze to the ground.

"Then I shall repay you a thousand times over." That sort of bargain Lyanna liked. "You shall understand when you have your own children."

The shocked look on her face was cause enough for an explanation and an unsettling feeling which took over Lyanna. Something was not quite right.

* * *

Lyanna smothered a curse as she was laced in tightly into her new dress. Apparently, in King's Landing not breathing was considered quite appealing. Unfortunately for Lyanna, her lungs were rather too fond of air and she too fond of her life to not protest at such folly. The laces were loosened, grudgingly. She suspected it had more to do with them fearing the bride might die before vows were exchanged than any concern for her comfort. Still, small victories did count.

"This should do," the Queen said. "You may change out of the dress, Lady Lyanna."

Since the preparations for the weddings were underfoot she had neither seen nor heard from her prospective husband. Instead, she'd been in the care of the Queen, attending to lessons upon courtly etiquette and familiarising herself with life in the King's court.

Of course, in the privacy of her own home every lady was educated, at least in a small measure, in such rules. But Lyanna also became aware that there were certain subtleties that she would have missed on her own. It paid well to give her attention to the Queen. In a sense, she was now being given weapons for another sort of battle, one of words and wits and wills. And this one she would have to win keeping in mind that her head would fall otherwise.

And then there was the King's worrisome ultimatum. A child. Lyanna was not sure how she would lead that horse to water, let alone get the beast to drink. It was daunting, but not hopeless. Or so she told herself.

* * *

The library in the Red Keep was far smaller than the one of Winterfell. Even so, it boasted an impressive amount of books and scrolls. Lyanna had been allowed time to pursue what she would, given that the Queen had other responsibilities. It was on one such occasion that she came upon one Arthur Dayne, leafing through a tome.

"Ser Dayne," she greeted, her voice wry. She'd not forgotten his treatment of her at Harrenhal. He looked up from the book and gave her a dispassionate glance. "How gallant you are, ser."

"What would be the point of such pretence between us, my lady?" he asked, replacing the tome on a shelf and taking another.

Lyanna looked at the book. "A reader, ser?"

"Each with his own passion, lady." His response prompted a slight flush from her, the allusions not lost on the she-wolf.

Lyanna brushed past him and took the tome he had put back. She opened it, leafed through the contents of the book and was surprised to see it was made up of notes. Why would Ser Dayne wish to read notes made by Maesters upon the properties of elements and their effect upon humours.

"Your passion seems to lie in knowledge gathering. A strange thing that you would turn to the sword." She closed the book and put it on the shelf.

"A strange thing that you would choose to plague me out of all the inhabitants of this keep," he answered, something in his voice warning her away. He had a secret, Lyanna decided, and he wished dearly to keep it.

For the moment, she would allow it. "I daresay I will be better served keeping company with the fool." She turned away and left him there. Yet she had already decided she would keep an eye on the man. At the very least it would give her something to do.

* * *

When finally came the day of her wedding, Lyanna felt more queasy than she had ever remembered being. She was, nonetheless, forced to don her dress and fasten her maiden cloak about her dainty shoulders. It was time to act the saviour.

Brandon, who had remained in King's Landing all the while, would be the one to lead her down the aisle. Lyanna would have preferred it to be her father. But the King had insisted upon Brandon. It made sense, of course. Brandon was the heir. If Rickard were to come, who was to say he'd not bring an army with him? But with his son in attendance, he might think twice about any sort of attack.

She was given in the care of her new husband, or rather the Prince was given in her keeping. Lyanna was not entirely certain how she would be able to fill her role, but decided that worrying over the matter before the eyes of the realm would do little good. Thus she concentrated on speaking her vows and making sure Rhaegar muddled through his.

The poor man. Had he had even a bit more wit, he would have been quite a catch. Even without being heir apparent. A pity truly.

"Here, Your Grace," she said softly, framing his face between her hands. She rose to her tiptoes and brushes a chaste kiss to his lips in deference to custom. The response of the crowd was more stunned than joyful, but Lyanna herself would not have been pleased at feigned happiness. "Let us away."

She took his hand and started leading the way down the stairs, afraid something might happen and her chances would be dashed. But she needn't have. Simple her husband might be, but he was in command of his limbs. Lyanna relaxed gradually.

His stare, however, made her tense once more as soon as she felt it. It was a telltale burn, the knowledge of being watched. She did not look at him though. The gods knew what she might say or do then and she needed to keep her wits about her. Aye, that she did.

* * *

She shared a name with the woman he'd called with his dying breath in one of those wretched visions. Rhaegar watched his bride dance with Lord Velaryon. Self-possessed and graceful, she had polished quite a mask for herself, but beneath it there was something wild, something which had no name.

Rhaegar toyed with the idea of revealing it all to her, his true state of mind, the visions. But as soon as the notion came, he dismissed it. Likely she would think him dangerous beyond his seemingly placid insanity. Or she would betray him. Neither option suited him. The Prince sighed and drank from his watered wine.

"What is it?" his mother questioned. "Shall I call your lady wife back?"

Adopting the best innocent mien he could, Rhaegar shook his head. "She looks pretty when she dances." He'd long since learned that truth was associated with simplicity, so he spoke thus, as if unthinking.

Yet should he take a chance nonetheless?

* * *

There was no proper bedding ceremony. Lyanna knew not who she ought to thank for it. Instead, the Prince and she had been led away from the drunken guests and taken to a collection of chambers that were to serve for the wedding night. A cold knot had formed where her stomach ought to be and Lyanna glanced at the man who sat on the edge of the bed without a care in the world.

These were his rooms, Lyanna understood after a quick perusal. Unintentionally, her eyes landed on something underneath the bed. It gleamed and that was why her attention had been drawn to it in the first place.

"I am tired," she heard her husband say. Taking pity, Lyanna nodded her head in understanding.

"Then you ought to sleep," she allowed, walking towards him gently, despite her desire to see whatever was under the bed. She would do so after he'd fallen asleep.

It took cajoling, convincing and a bit of insistence to get him into bed and under the covers. Lyanna joined him, but kept well away from actually touching the length of her body to his. It was likely awkward for the both of them, though more so for her, as she was aware of the whole thing to a higher degree. She bade him a good night and turned on her side, having decided against facing him. She felt the bed dip and the mattress tremble with his movement, but shut her eyes tightly and pretended to fall asleep. He would follow her lead in the end.

* * *

Slipping out of bed, Lyanna looked over her shoulder to Rhaegar's prone form. He too had turned on his side, facing away from her. He'd not reacted to her movement and he seemed to be asleep. This was her chance, Kneeling, she stretched herself out on the floor and crawled under the bed, her hands feeling around for whatever object she had seen.

Her fingers finally met something hard in their path. Lyanna traced the shape of the object to the best of her ability. It seemed to be a small chest of some sort. In the dark, she had little chance of rifling through its contents, thus she decided to withdraw and see to it in the morning

Quietly, she pushed herself back, wincing as the bed creaked with movement. She hoped it wasn't Rhaegar waking up. She had no explanation for what she'd been doing of the floor and she certainly wouldn't wish to offer one to her husband. Sweet he might be, bright he was not.

Thankfully, as she came up, she saw that while had had moved a bit, he was still asleep. Lyanna slipped beneath the covers and closed her eyes, wondering if she ought to be counting weirwood leaves to help her find oblivion. The feel of her partner so very near did not let her sleep though. It was much too strange. She felt restless.

Relentless, it came to her again, that feeling of misplacement, of something not being quite right. Lyanna rolled on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, trying to dislodge it. Of course not all was well, but she needn't acknowledge it. It would serve best to be on her guard and to find a way to please the King in his demands. Aside from that, she ought not to concern herself.

How long she laid there thinking and planning she did not know. But when she did open her eyes once more, the room was bathed in a low diffuse light. It came from behind her, so she sat up and looked over her shoulder. The sun was rising. As thin tendrils of warm light crept into the bedchamber, along all surfaces, a smile curled Lyanna's lips.

She glanced towards her husband and noted he slept. Thanking all the gods, she slithered out from beneath the covers and crawled her way back under the bed. It had been a chest. She wrapped her arms around it. It was a bit bigger than she'd imagined. Carefully, she pushed it towards the foot of the bed and into the dim light of dawn.

It was not locked. There was a simple sort of latch which she undid with as little sound as possible, keeping her eyes on Rhaegar the whole time. He did not stir. Lyanna looked down and was surprise to discover it was filled with papers.

Picking up one, she examined its contents. It struck her that the material was familiar and in that instant she was transported back to the library and Arthur Dayne. She was certain she was right in her suspicion. Lyanna looked through the rest of them. So many books. But these were only passages. She tried to find a pattern to it, but feared lingering would only give Rhaegar a chance to wake up. She wasn't ready to question yet much as she wanted to.

Indeed, when next she happened by Ser Dayne in the library, she would watch him with utmost attention.

* * *

Rhaegar forced himself to lie still and not make a sound as the soft sounds which came from the other end of the bed. He might have exerted himself to stop Lyanna from searching the room, but he needed, for some strange reason he could not pin down, to know her reaction. He needed to know what she would do in these circumstances.

He felt the bed dip a third time and a wave of heat lapped at his back. He knew she had not gone to sleep by the pattern of her breathing. And she felt awake as well, thrumming with energy. Biting the inside of his cheek to give himself something other to contemplate than his wife, Rhaegar looked away from the sunlit blanket.

For one moment he considered turning around, slinging an arm over her waist and pretending on to be lost in the world of dreams. He stopped himself, of course. If anything was to come of their marriage then it had to be on her making

At his back Lyanna shifted. Her foot touched one of his legs and he felt her tense suddenly. She withdrew as if he'd burned her. Then it came back, the pressure, gentle, but determined. She did not pull away a second time.

* * *

Arthur had been surprised at his friend's words. Rhaegar seemed to have some strange idea that his bride would help if she found out his secret. He refrained from pointing out that she'd been more or less strong armed into wedding him and was just as likely to dig his grave as she was to aid. If that was the Prince's decision, he would follow as he'd always done.

Thus, when Lyanna Stark walked into the library, her eyes falling on him, Arthur resisted the urge to draw away from her. She levelled him a fairly suspicious look before sauntering in his direction. "Ser Dayne, I find you here again."

"So you do, my lady." He watched as she peered down at his book. "Is there anything–"

"Aye, I was wondering if I might have a few words with you." Her hand was barely touched his sleeve and he saw her lips move into forming a word. "Since you've read Maester Talyn's work, I thought you might be able to explain a few matters to me."

Young, but not stupid. Wilful besides. A dangerous combination if Arthur had ever seen one. "Of course I would. Shall we have a seat?"

"Nay, 'tis awfully drafty here." She made a show of shivering. Arthur was unconvinced given she came from a much cooler climate, but he followed her nonetheless, becoming aware that they were heading towards Rhaegar's rooms.

An advantage to the feigned condition was that the Prince was kept out of the way of most others and was rarely, if ever in need of much caution within his own chambers. No one would bother wasting precious resourced on him. Aside from his lady wife it would seem.

* * *

The chest was gone. Lyanna's eyes narrowed at the empty spot under the bed. She turned around to look at the Kingsguard and nodded towards one of the chairs. "A moment, ser." Passing into the other room, she saw Rhaegar sitting near a window looking outside.

"Your Grace," she called, gaining his attention. When he looked at her, she got the very same feeling she'd had upon their first meeting. His gaze was focused, intent. And then it mellowed. "Come along, Your Grace, we have guest."

"A guest?" he questioned softly, slowly rising from his seat. Lyanna resisted the urge to shake him and see if she might knock the missing wits back into his head.

Instead, she nodded and took him by the arm. She was missing some pieces, but she was not daft. It was quite clear that Arthur knew something she did not and she would find out. One way or another. She would not be thwarted.

Once she made her appearance back into the bedchamber, Lyanna noted that Arthur had grown tense. Pleased, she bade her husband to sit and came behind his hair, resting one hand against his shoulder as if to secure him.

"I've little patience for games, and the two of you would lead me a merry dance were I to allow it." Her direct manner startled both men. Lyanna had never been the patient sort anyway. "Don't take on so. One of you will explain to me what those papers in the chest were and why in the name of the gods would the Prince need to send a Kingsguard to the library for him."

Arthur Dayne looked at her husband then. Lyanna clicked her tongue in dismay. "The sooner the better, or I should seek help elsewhere."

"You could," Rhaegar allowed. And then it was her turn to be startled as his hand gripped at her wrist almost painfully. "But if you did, have no doubt, my lady, that I would end you. An explanation will require a promise."

"If the explanation is pertinent you shall have your promise. But not one moment before I hear it." She rather thought he was amused. "Your Grace."

The explanation she did receive was not one which had been contrived to put her at ease. It seemed she'd wedded a soothsayer who was running from his own fate. And so far he'd avoided it with spectacular success. "You see, my lady, I never meant to wed, and this certainly complicated matters a great deal."

She could use it to her advantage. Lyanna nodded her head. "Well then, I propose a trade. I shall keep silent upon this matter and even help however I can. In exchange, I want to ensure the safety of my house. I need–"

"A child, aye." Rhaegar stood up then, half-facing her. "Two years limit, is it not?" She nodded her head. He then looked at Ser Dayne. "Arthur, I do believe you have found yourself a helper. Be off then, I am aware your duty is waiting."

* * *

"Could you not have simply renounced your claim to the throne?" she asked later, as she was organising the notes. "Why go through all this trouble?"

"If a plan is to work, then it has to be believable. I had no reason, ever, to give up my claim. Nor would I have been allowed to at the time, as I was my father's sole child. My only option was to convince all and sundry of my unsuitability for the position." He handed her another piece of paper.

"Does it not bother you, then, all this pretending?" He was a curious sort, to be sure. Prideful and cautious and perhaps a bit damaged.

"Of course it does." He was the one forced to act the idiot, after all. "But I admit to being too fond of living to do anything else."

"And you believe that this shall work?" Lyanna was sceptical. "I will be the first to say that I should like nothing better, but the realm is thriving. And most lords are privileged. I doubt they'd be willing to give any of it up just to uphold ideals. Besides, Viserys is young. Much too young to rule."

"Aye, but he would have Lord Lannister as one of his regents." Of course, Tywin Lannister. Lyanna bit her lower lip and listened. "If there is anyone who could hold the reins of power, then it is him."

"What of you then?" The more proper question would have been _what of us_ , but Lyanna could not bring herself to say the words. "You would willingly hand over the realm to him?"

"You'll find, lady wife, that I would willingly do quite a bit for the realm. If it brings prosperity, then I am willing to part with any grand titles. It behooves one to know how much of a burden they can carry."

"No doubt you are correct." Standing to her feet, Lyanna walked around him. "But you would need to convince Lord Lannister of it. What could possibly induce him to act in favour of this?"

"He has a daughter, doesn't he?" Ah, aye, Cersei Lannister. Lyanna had nearly forgotten. "He's an ambitious man. We can count on that."

"A crown then. I suppose if sufficiently ambitious, he would do it." But first the seed had to be planted. "Do you suppose that Cersei Lannister should accept my invitation were I to send her one?"

* * *

Another discovery was made by the time they'd retired to bed. Since she had shown her willingness to uphold her part of the bargain, Rhaegar would uphold his. Lyanna hadn't been exactly sure of what she ought to do, but she found that instinct was much help. And truly her husband's touch was pleasant. The added element of secrecy only made it all the more thrilling.

In the midst of it all, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto him, feeling vulnerable and powerful by turns, along with the give and take of their endeavour. If this was the way people went about making babes, then it was little wonder the population increased as it did.

After, she turned on her side, strangely sated and looked at Rhaegar's profile, eyes tracing the lines. Two years. Lyanna could not decide if she ought to be praying for a child to be conceived this night, or if she should pray it came later. She hadn't thought she would enjoy it nearly as much as she had.

"You should sleep," her husband told her after a long silence.

Instead of listening to him, Lyanna drew herself closer, pressing into his side, then slowly rising. She gave him a small smile. One raised eyebrow later and she was sitting astride him, fully convinced that her face had caught flame. It was brazen and wanton and he did not seem to mind it one bit.

"I am not yet tired," she answered. She was. Just not ready to sleep.

"Let us see if we can achieve the right state of exhaustion then."

* * *

Cersei Lannister wrinkled her nose and shot Lyanna a mildly sympathetic glance. "He is an odious man, that King. To have you married to a halfwit. I do not know where you find the strength, Your Grace."

"We must all get by, my lady," Lyanna offered with a small shrug. It amused her, this sort of reaction. Despite her better knowledge, Lyanna had continued to act as if as was in possession of a child, rather than a husband before the eyes of others. A deal was a deal, after all, and she had never been one for sharing.

"I suppose you are right." Cersei took a lemon cake and bit into it gingerly. "While I admire your endurance, Your Grace, I cannot help but wonder at this meeting. For what purpose was I called here?"

Knowing that spoken words had a way of betraying the speaker, Lyanna took her own lemon cake. She carefully pulled out a small piece of paper from her sleeve and slipped it under it as she set it down. The contrast in colours had Cersei's attention even as Lyanna spoke. "If it is not too presumptuous of me, I should be delighted to count you among my friends here at court. I've little proper company, you see."

"I do see, Your Grace." Cersei pulled the slip of paper into her own sleeve. "I believe that we shall get along, you and I."

"It is to be hoped," Lyanna agreed.

* * *

Lyanna had written to her father even before speaking to Cersei Lannister. Her message had been simple and effective. _I miss you dearly._ Her father's had been equal to hers. _I shall be in King's Landing soon._

And he was. Rickard Stark was allowed to see his daughter, much to Lyanna's relief, who had been waiting with baited breath. Rhaegar had elected to keep away. That she understood. The fewer who knew, the better.

So it was that she found herself in the company of her lord father unsure of how to proceed. No doubt the King's Spider had sent little birds a-spying. It occurred to her that she might try setting a later meeting. But time was not as much as she would have liked it to be.

"Brandon has wedded his Tully maiden and we were much saddened by your absence." Lyanna hadn't known. The King allowed little communication with the outside world. "Eddard has taken the road South, to Dorne."

"It was to be expected, lord father." Even a blind man could have seen the reason why. "He should be returning with a bride of his own then. How lovely. Now Benjen is the only one left. I do believe I might make some suggestions."

Her father scowled lightly. "There is a debt to settle." Well, father knew as well, Lyanna was much relieved. "If there is ever need."

"There is always need," she laughed lightly. "I've been thinking, lately, that I miss our rides into the wolfswood. Do you remember the fires Brandon could make? They were by far the biggest and strongest. I wish to start an even bigger one."

"Then you will need quite a lot of wood." Understanding had already dawned in her father's eyes. "The best wood of the North ought to keep one warm throughout the night."

"And I should be very pleased to have some of it," Lyanna replied.

"You may have all of it."

* * *

Tywin Lannister's eyes narrowed in what Lyanna could only term to be a glare. She straightened her posture instinctively and drew her arm through her father's. She had discussed this with Rhaegar. It ought to work.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" the man questioned. He was aptly described as a lion, Lyanna reckoned.

"Merely that my lord look to the best interest of the realm." Her father had answered for her, but Lyanna would not keep silent either.

"My lord is well aware that some situations need to be put a stop to. It would be advantageous for all involved." She stepped a little away from her father. "I see the suspicion in your eyes, my lord. It is commendable. But perhaps it would soothe you to know that I am not at all disinterested in all this. I mean to claim my own share if all goes well." That seemed to work.

"And what would it be, Your Grace?" Lord Lannister questioned.

"Safety, for me and whatever children my marriage produces, along with non-involvement. I already have another person to care for. It is simply impossible for me to concern myself with much else." Aye. She could see he was thinking upon it. "We must all do what we can, my lord, for the greatness of our house."

He gave a sharp nod. "I will consider your words carefully, Your Grace." He bowed and left both Lyanna and Rickard in the tunnel.

"He shall aid us," her father assured her.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"The way he looked."

* * *

The King was ill. It seemed he had caught a chill and was taken down with a fever. Lyanna had more pressing concerns at the moment, however, to be put at ease by such news. Her courses had stopped coming. Entirely. She was yet one year into her marriage. If she was indeed with child, then her family would be well protected from the King's wrath. Yet how to be certain? And how to make him certain of the fact.

Who knew how long the blasted man would live. And he might yet decide to cause mischief with his dying breath.

"I do not think it matters any longer, Your Grace," Arthur Dyane imparted upon her softly. "He can barely remember his own name through the fever. It is unlikely that he would concern himself with House Stark at this point." But not entirely impossible.

"You and I shall be soon family," Lyanna told him. "At the very least I need assurance from Lord Lannister."

"That can be arranged." His response extracted a nod of the head from her. "Does the Prince know?"

"I shall tell him when the time is right."

* * *

"Summerhall shall be rebuilt," Tywin Lannister was saying to her. "It shan't be as grand, but it should do. I expect the running of a small keep is not beyond your powers, Your Grace."

"Not at all, my lord," Lyanna offered. The King was dying. He'd been abed for more than a couple of days, lost in troubled sleep. "I should, however, like permission for my husband and I to retire to Winterfell until preparations are made." Distance would be best between them.

Lord Lannister seemed of the same mind. "After all is settled." It was as much of a promise as she was likely to get.

* * *

The funeral had been a thing of grandeur, as befitted a monarch. Lyanna had kept her eyes on the ground, on account of not being a good enough actress to produce tears. All in all, she was quite pleased with how it had all progressed. Her house was safe for the moment and her own family was unlikely to be much bothered by these events.

It was just as well, she thought, looking at her husband's appropriately mournful mien. Her hand surreptitiously searched for his, hooking a lithe finger around his. He gave a gentle squeeze but seemed no more aware of her than she of him.

* * *

"I daresay you shall like Winterfell," Lyanna murmured against his shoulder, out of breath. "It is nice and there is a large library. If anyone asks, I shall tell them I am exercising my diction."

He laughed. "Mayhap I could shed the mask now. Viserys already has his crown."

"That would certainly be interesting, or disastrous. They could think I've been practicing witchcraft on you." She felt his hand brush against the soft curve of her middle. Something swelled in her breast.

"Witchcraft sounds much like it." His fingers stroked the soft skin. "Let us see how much more magic we can make between the two of us."

"I do like your daring." How strange. A year ago she would have thought herself the most unfortunate person to have ever inhabited the Seven Kingdoms. Strange and wonderful.


	2. ii

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is there a reason for which Lord Baratheon is glaring our way?” her husband asked softly, the hand on her knee squeezing her firmly. Lyanna swallowed her food and dared a look Robert’s way. He was indeed staring menacingly.

His fingers tapped against the bone of her knee. “I’m afraid the fault lies with me,” she answered. “We did not part on the best of terms.” She was uncertain of whether she ought to say more. On the one hand, her actions had caused Robert a good amount of chagrin and the matter would not wash simply because she willed it. On the other hand, it was in the past and dredging it up served little enough purpose to her mind. Thus she elected to keep her mouth shut upon the subject. “I am certain ‘tis just the shock of seeing me once more.” Or might be the wine. She would not know, as she did not plan to ask.

Rhaegar’s hand moved, dragging at the thick cloth of her skirts. She shuddered lightly as a cool breeze swept against her skin. The weight was removed from her leg and he returned his attention to the food upon his plate, toying with it. Lyanna counted to ten in her mind, before she surreptitiously dropped her hand beneath the tablecloth and searched for his own. Their fingers entwined in a loose hold.

So as to not give herself away, she surveyed her surroundings, eyes landing upon the Queen-mother. The woman was speaking to Lord Lannister, and she seemed, well if not rightly pleased, then relieved. And why should she not, Lyanna wondered, when her sons were safe, she was safe and her odious husband had joined the realm of eternal sleep.

One of the courtiers stepped up to her and asked for a dance. Disentangling her fingers from Rhaegar’s, she was certain to give him a small smile before accepting the invitation, holding her hand out as soon as she reached the man.

“Your Grace is looking very well these days,” he commented, lifting her in a dizzying spin.

“My gratitude,” she giggled as soon as her feet were panted firmly upon the ground. “I am to see my family again, you see. I suppose that I see it as reason enough to smile these days.” She placed a hand upon his shoulder as he lifted her again.

“Indeed? I’d heard rumours. You shall leave us in truth then?” One thing she’d learned was that snakes had the sweetest tongues, positively dripping honey. Thus she reacted in the only manner she could. She laughed the saddened look upon his face away and assured him that it was not as bleak as all that.

“It does us all good to be away every now and again.” He accepted her words with a small smile of his own and released her upon the last strain of the song, offering his arm to lead her away.

Lyanna met Rhaegar’s eyes, the burn of his stare widening her smile.    

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cersei smiled softly, combing long fingers through the loose ringlets of her hair. “I find all the more a pity that you must away so soon after the wedding. I’d been hoping you would stay.” Lyanna was not certain whether the newly minted Queen was sincere or not, nevertheless, she was more than pleased to go.

“’Tis for the best,” was the answer she gave, twisting a lock of her own curls around her finger. Cersei’s ladies had truly done a magnificent job. “The court is much too stressful on poor Rhaegar’s nerves and I should feel all the better to have some privacy. And Summerhall is not that far. I am certain you can convince His Majesty of the pressing need to visit should it come to such.” Cersei shrugged and took a deep drink out of her cup.

“But tell me truly, are you certain you would leave with him. We can always place him in the care of servants, you know.” The commiserating look on the other’s face duly lifted Lyanna’s heart. If only she knew. But then again, ‘twas best Cersei remained in the dark.

So she shook her head. “I am perfectly content, I swear to you.”

Her companion left it at that and placed her cup upon the low stool. She them climbed into bed, drawing the furs around herself. “I shall miss you, is all. But if you are determined, then so be it. In truth, you have the right of it, it shall be much easier at Summerhall for you and the Prince.” A sly smile followed those words.

Cersei had insisted upon having her spend the night, as Viserys was yet a boy and would likely not be entering his Queen’s bedchamber for a long time. Lyanna had accepted, if only to not raise suspicions regarding Rhaegar. If she claimed to prefer his company to the Queen’s, the gods only knew what reactions would spring forth.

Her husband had, to her great amusement, spend no less than an hour, vigorously questioning her upon the friendship she and Cersei bore one another. In truth, she’d expected it of him and had not made a move to stop his interrogation. Once he’d given up though, she had explained very calmly that the Queen was lonely and she was in effects doing the other woman a kindness. It was not as if the two of them would grow very close, she had argued at the look upon his face, nor did she expect that it would chance a thing about their journey.

And she was determined that it would not. After all, Cersei would grow used to her ladies-in-waiting even if she claimed not to like them. And Lyanna would be in Winterfell, secluded in her own rooms, enjoying the many perks of her marriage. She smiled at the thought, hiding her face in the pillow, just in case her bedmate decided to open her eyes.

Thankfully, soon enough Lyanna could tell the other slept. She drifted off herself at long last, after a debate on whether she should take a risk and sneak without.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The wheelhouse shook as one of the wheels hit a sharp rock. Lyanna bit into her lower lip to keep from wincing when she was pressed even farther into Rhaegar, obligated to once more apologise for disturbing him. Her husband accepted the words yet again, but this time he wound an arm around her middle and dragged her across the bench, perching her upon his lap.

“This is truly inappropriate,” she pointed out, shifting into a more comfortable position. “If someone were to open the door right now, think only what they would believe of me.” Alas, she did not struggle against his hold.

Rhaegar chuckled, pressing his lips to her neck in a swift succession of kisses. “Better than to have you elbowing me every few minutes. I’m bruised enough as is.” The hand upon her middle slid lower, leaving her gaping and unable to make eye-contact.

“Bruised, are you?” she jested. “Well, I do believe I quit like that. You take the bruises and I the soreness. Might be, dearest husband, you will be fully healed by the time we reach Winterfell and I shall have the pleasure of your company once more. I promise to be gentle this time.”

His lips returned to her neck, the kiss lingering this time. “You needn’t wait that long.” The kisses climbed upwards stopping short behind her ear.

“You are mad,” she whispered tremulously, pressing back into him against very solid proof, as it were. “A moving wheelhouse, Rhaegar.” That did not seem to deter him in the least. Her girdle fell upon the ground. “Someone might truly walk in.” What a lark it would be explaining why exactly her witless husband had his hands up her skirts. Not that it would require much explaining, just aught of pertinence.

“We’ve hours yet to travel,” he reminded her. Yet his exploring had stopped, hands pressed against her front in an irritable show of innocence. He wanted her off-kilter. She’d show him then.

“Still.” Lyanna lifted herself off of him and moved to the opposite side, seating herself in a lazy sprawl upon the bench. Her back pressed to the wall, she looked into her husband’s eyes, struggling to maintain a composed expression. “It would not do, is all.”

He shrugged at that, shifting as well. Disappointment touched her briefly at the ease with which he abandoned her. She stifled a sign and looked away from him.  A pity, truly, she’d been very, very certain she would manage to cause even a crack in that blasted armour of his. Did the man ever lose control?

Lyanna closed her eyes briefly and laced her fingers over the slight rise of her middle. It was just a matter of catching him at the right time. _But when would that time come?_ Whenever it was, it had best hurry. She was tired of waiting.

Pressure shifted against her ankle. She opened her eyes. He’d stretched one leg out and had closed his eyes as well.

How could he sleep? In a huff, she slammed her eyelid shut.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The fire crackled in the hearth, soft light creeping upon the thick rugs, spilling onto the poorly polished wood and struggling to touch the very dearly paid for featherbed. Rhaegar sat upon the edge staring at his wife who was pacing back and forth, counting under her breath as she combed her hair.

Having locked everything, she had divested of her kirtle, remaining in a sturdy chemise. Even with the glow coming from behind her, the solid white blocked his view of familiar curves. It did not, however, stop him from imagining them. Aught was distracting his young spouse and he had a fairly accurate idea of what that was. She, on the other hand, seemed to be doing her best not to speak of it and any attempt he made to broach the subject was shot down with ruthless efficiency. He’d been hoping his father’s demise might in turn ease some of the burdens pressing down upon their bond.

“You’ll wear a hole through those carpets,” he warned, reaching out to stop her progress, bringing her before the trembling flames. Lyanna did not shake off his hold; she did not even try to break away. “Is there a reason for it?”

“Nay.” He pulled her towards him without much effort. Resting his hands upon her arms, he gazed up into her face. The she-wolf held his stare. “What reason could I possibly have?”

“What reason could you have?” Rhaegar echoed, bringing her down upon the bed. She continued to gaze at him, arms coming together around his neck. He could force the issue, demand an answer. Instead he lowered his head to her chest, resting it against her bosom. Loud heartbeats filled his scull. A hand travelled down her side, rubbing circles against her hip and down her leg. The flow of her breath broke as he moved his fingers inwards. He dragged himself away, despite the protest of his body.

Lyanna’s eyes were wide open. She raised herself on her elbows. “Is aught amiss?”

Touching a finger to her rosy cheek, Rhaegar shook his head. “We should sleep. It would not do to be tired on the morrow.” He leaned in for one last confused kiss, slating his lips against hers. She responded as she always did, with honesty. If only she would tell him. Rhaegar did not break away until his lungs threatened collapse. By then his head was swimming.

With some difficulty, he released her, tugging the covers until she was safely encased within them. He slung an arm over her middle, pulling her firmly into him. The rigidity of her limbs was slow to melt, thus he closed his eyes against it, pretended not to take note and forced his mind to quiet down.

Slowly, his wife embraced him, moving about until she found a comfortable position. Like him, she did not fall asleep immediately. Her too-even breathing continued well into the night until either he or she fell asleep; Rhaegar was not certain which came first.     

Dawn came accompanied by heavy, dragging sounds. Rhaegar opened bleary eyes to a mass of dying dark curls strewn across the pillow. Lyanna’s face was hidden away in his chest, one hand pressed against his heart, the other somewhere beneath her. Spine curved, she’d made herself into a small ball, furs bunching up against her. A calm expression upon her face, his bride slept undisturbed. If only he had that.

Worming his way out of his hold, Rhaegar covered her with great care, insulating every inch of skin against the cold. He then clothed himself in the grey light and looked about the chamber in search of aught which might help him pass the time.

The coffer at the end of the bed was the only one containing books, but he’d read them all before and breaking his fast with either in hand was not a bright scheme given the inn was the least private place he could think of beside a town square.

Thus Rhaegar walked to the door and opened it. On the other side, Arthur stood against the wall. “I thought you’d never wake,” his long time friend said. “Grown quite attached to your wife, have you?”

He smiled in turn at the knowing look upon the other man’s face. “Should I offer my condolences that you shan’t ever experience it?” The jape bounced right off Arthur’s armour as he smothered laughter.

“There are women aplenty, my friend.” He reared back as Rhaegar came into the hallway and closed the door in his wake. “Every one of them still sleeps.” He nodded his head towards other occupied chambers.

“I’d have expected no less of them. Come, I need some air.” There was no response to that. He heard Arthur move behind him, but did not stop at all until he stood without, cold wind blowing in his face. Rhaegar breathed in, a slight pain stabbing his throat.

“So?” Arthur finally spoke after a long silence. “Will you tell me or do I need to drag it out of you?” The impatience rankled.

“I doubt you could if you tried; I shan’t make you do it,” he laughed nonetheless.

“You fear I shall though,” his friend argued.

Rhaegar looked at him over his shoulder. “I thought I’d grown used to this mask. Some days, I just want to give it up. Gods.” He brushed a palm over his face.

“This is about your wife?” The amused drawl put him on edge. “Such moments make me glad I shall never experience it.”

“Why would a woman hide that she is with child?” The chuckle died on the knight’s lips.

“It depends on the woman, I suppose,” Arthur ventured after a brief moment of consideration. “What would she have to fear if she said the words?” His friend clasped a hand upon Rhaegar’s shoulder. “’Tis a question best put to that woman you are thinking of.”

He knew that even without being told. Rhaegar heaved a sigh and turned around. He would wait.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hands on her hips, she looked at him expectantly. “Where have you been?” Lyanna’s chest rose and fell in an irregular pattern. “You cannot just walk away like that. I was worried, aught might have happened to you.” Emotions pouring out, wave after wave, she remained stone-still before him, moving only her lips. “I thought I would die, I did.”

“Do not exaggerate,” he answered, moving past her deeper into the room. “And come away from the door. Someone might hear.” Silence was his answer. After no less than a couple of heartbeats he turned around to see what it was that had made her quiet down. Lyanna’s eyes were upon him, wide, lips parted, arms raised to cross over her chest. “I was in no danger.”

Her mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together until her mouth became a straight bloodless line. It was her turn to walk past him, pressing her clothes into the coffer with little care. She slammed the lid shut and locked the contents within.

“What is this about, truly?”  She stopped momentarily as the question registered, shoulders rising slightly. “What are you mad about, lady wife?” Lyanna whirled around, her fierce glare pinning him in place. Rhaegar inclined his head to the side and remained staring at her. “Do you plan to tell me or shall I take a guess?”

“I am not mad.” Her voice was flat, hollow even. “We should make ready for the road. If there is naught else to be packed then I suggest we repair to the wheelhouse. Come along, Your Grace, lingering is not at all productive.”

Well, whatever her problem was she would have to figure it out on her own if she didn’t want to speak to him. Rhaegar followed despite it being the last thing he wanted.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She should have kept her mouth shut. Lyanna rested her head against Rhaegar’s shoulder as the stab of guilt pressed deeper into her wound. Why had she picked a fight in the first place? It was not as if he’d returned covered in blood. He’d been whole, not a hair out of place. Likely he thought her foolish.

All that she managed with that was to make him unresponsive. Even with her scull cushioned upon his shoulder she could feel the creeping coldness wrapping slender fingers around her. Lyanna shivered. “Still cold?” she heard him speak. Without lifting her head, she made a sound of acknowledgement. 

Rhaegar drew away and before she could ask after his purpose, Lyanna was covered in his heavy outer-garment, pressed into his side, absorbing his warmth. The man was like a furnace. “I apologise for earlier. I was not being myself.”

“I makes no matter.” The arm around her tightened its hold.

“But–“ It did matter; to her at least. She wanted to explain.

“You need not apologise.” Warm lips pressed against her forehead, the neutral kiss chilling her to the marrow.  She pressed further into him, desperate for a kernel of heat. They would speak of it later, she assured herself.    

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Father encased her in a tight embrace, rattling her bones with the force before she could even think to protest. And the man claimed he was growing old. Lyanna struggled to regain her breath and laughed quietly once she was on firm ground. “It has not been so very long, father.” She squeezed his hand before Brandon picked up where the other man left off.

“Long enough,” the eldest brother muttered. “It is good to have you home.” His wife merely kissed both of Lyanna’s cheeks and patted her arm gently, visibly out of depths. Nevertheless, Catelyn Tully offered a bright smile just before her eyes dared look upon Lyanna’s husband questioningly. She did not ask a thing.

Ned, very much like his good-sister, walked on eggshells. She would have laughed for he cut quite the image beside their boisterous youngest sibling who needed no more than a moment to have her in his arms.

“My how you’ve grown,” she teased when Benjen lifted her up. “Father, I do believe ‘tis time to wed this one as well.”

Sputtering, Benjen dropped her. “I am not wedding anyone.” The assurance produced laughter.

“Only you wait until I am done with Ned,” father promised.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I thought he would be bringing her back himself,” she said, careful of Benjen’s stare. “Did she not wish to come with him?”

“I was not privy to such minute details,” the young man shrugged, eyes lingering upon the trunk at the end of the bed. “Why are you sharing your bedchamber with him?”

An explanation sprang to her lips, ready to spill out between her and him before she smothered it. “He will need some time to grow used to these surroundings.” She could not very well tell him it was what wives and husbands did. Poor Benjen might stumble upon aught which he did not like. “I am not complaining, little brother.”

“Aye. I know. You only complain about matters of no Import.” At her indignant huff he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is your home. You do not need to share aught with him, least of all a bed. He can have another chamber. Or you may use another one. You have no obligation towards him.”

Bolting up straight, Lyanna turned the full heat of her glare upon Benjen. “I promised already I would treat him well. I do not go back on my word. Like it or not, he is my husband.” The thin line of Benjen’s lips trembled slightly. “Why would you find this so difficult to accept.”

“Because Ned should have–“ She was standing before him, hand pressed tightly to his mouth, muffling the words.  

“Never bring that up again,” Lyanna warned.

“Bring what up, lady wife?”If she thought it remotely possible to get away with shoving her brother out and not giving an explanation for it, Lyanna would have done it. Alas, Rhaegar was standing in the doorway, Arthur just behind him, and he was staring at the two of them with a mixture of curiosity and feigned innocence. She shivered, releasing her brother.

“’Tis naught to worry over, Your Grace.” Stepping away from Benjen, she slipped into her own mask of mindful caretaker. ”Just the arguments of siblings. Benjen, I do believe you were tasked with aught by father. Best you be on your way.”

Her brother’s jaw twitched. “I shall see you later then, sister. Your Grace.” He walked past Rhaegar and glared towards the knight. “Ser Dayne.” Arthur merely blinked at that and shut the door once the boy was out, leaving Lyanna alone with her husband.

“Bring what up, lady wife?” he repeated the earlier question, stepping towards her. Despite the great desire to step back and put a safe distance between them, Lyanna remained still. His hand rested beneath her elbow, grip tight.

“It makes no matter.” She attempted to shrug off his hold, only for it to grow to bruising intensity. “I already told you ‘tis a little spat between siblings. Had you a brother or sister closer in age you would know.”

Anger flared to life in his eyes, the rest of his face freezing in an emotionless mask. For a heartbeat she thought he would shake her violently and demand an answer, but her husband let go as if she’d burned him and dropped his arm to the side. “Very well, lady wife.”

He moved away from her, kneeling before the coffer at the end of the bed. Lyanna watched his back as he rummaged through the contents. “You needn’t stay with me. I am certain you have much to discuss with your family.” Once he found what he was looking for, he climbed back to his feet and occupied the bed, resting against the headboard. “Aren’t you going?”

“I am.” But she still had not moved by the time he looked again. Rhaegar raised one eyebrow her way and the tension broke over her head. Lyanna was at the door in a blink of an eye and running down the stairs.

He’d as good as told her he did not want her there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was Brandon’s wife who found her in the glasshouse looking at the blooming roses. Catelyn Tully took one look at her wet cheeks and tutted softly. “Let us drink some tea, good-sister. Mine own sister sent me a peach blend. Best for such cool days.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Arthur sighed. He did not want to involve himself any more in these affairs. Nevertheless, a flesh and blood Lyanna Stark was standing before him, determined mien in place. “You know him best. I’ve tried everything I could think of and none of it is working. So, I am begging you, tell me; what does he want from me?”

He was going to kill the both of them for borrowing trouble. “My lady, I cannot say what he wants from you exactly. What I do know is that he fears you are hiding something.” A gasp was her reply. “Appearances to the contrary, he has a rather wicked temper, my lady. I would not test him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“If you get drunk, they’ll notice,” Arthur said unhelpfully, pouring Rhaegar another cup with a knowing look in his eyes. “And I’ll be blamed for it, since, in your current state, you’d just lose your way through the corridors.”

“Bugger off,” the Prince muttered, picking the cup up. “If I was to drink, I’ll drink.”

“Who is being a petulant child now?” If it were happening to any other man, Arthur supposed he would jape mercilessly. Brought down by an obvious fact and unwilling to put his pride aside. His friend was truly incredible. He could pretend to be a lackwit for years on end, unimpressed even by his mother’s tears, but he daren’t press his wife for answers. “Has it occurred to you that talking to her might help?”

“Not at all,” Rhaegar answered, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Never once has it crossed my mind.” The cup slammed against the table. “What use is talking when she’ll just stand there and mumble excuses?” The Prince cursed under his breath.

For his part, Arthur was wondering if he ought to simply drag Lady Lyanna into the chamber and lock the door. Claim the Prince had come done with some ailment or some such and keep the two of them in there until they sorted it all out. Unfortunately, he much doubted Lord Rickard would allow it.

“Are you done?” he questioned when at long last silence dominated the chamber. Rhaegar’s head whipped around, an incredulous look upon his face. “You chose to go through with this charade. You chose to tell her as well. This means you trust her. So trust her enough to speak to her.”

He picked the pitcher up and spilled the remaining wine over the fire in the hearth. “I must away, Your Grace, the door shan’t guard itself.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

An exemplary snowball specimen flew right past her face, smacking into the thick trunk of a tree. Lyanna had already ducked and was in the process of climbing back to her feet when a twinge of pain erupted along one of her legs. A yelp sprang past her lips and she knelt back down, pain intensifying.

Familiar voices called her name, one large hand covering her shoulder. She was then staring into Brandon’s face. “Were you hit? I saw you duck.” Ned had run out of his hiding place as well and came to stand before her.

“I certainly didn’t hit her,” he spoke. “It sailed straight past you and hit the tree.”

She nodded, clearing her throat. “It’s my ankle.” But she’d not fallen. Once more she winced. “Gods, I haven’t been running for that long.”

But Brandon was already lifting her up, going towards one of the boulders. He deposited her upon the highest mound, yet still had to kneel in order to work comfortably. In the meantime, Benjen and Catelyn had reached them as well, these last two out of breath.

“Is aught amiss?” the woman questioned, pushing long fiery strands out of the way. “Did you fall, good-sister?"

Her brother had raised her skirts several inches already and was working on unlacing one of her boots. “I didn’t see her fall.”

“I didn’t fall,” Lyanna assured the small group just as her brother spoke.

The shoe came off and was disrespectfully discarded among mounds of snow. Brandon thankfully did not destroy her modesty in his search for the garter holding the hose up. Lyanna was not certain if she ought to take that as his proficiency at discarding females clothing or a sign that her brother needed a good talking to. Nor did she have much time to think upon the matter as her skin was exposed to the chilling bite of wintry air. Cold rough fingers gripped about her ankle causing her to swallow a whimper of discomfort.

“Are you certain you did not take a tumble, sister?” Benjen teased. “With how swollen your ankle is I’d fear a sprain.”

“That cannot be right,” Ned muttered, pushing Brandon slightly out of the way. “The skin is neither discoloured, nor flaming, and Lyanna says she did not fall. Best we have Maester Walys see to her.”

Without listening to a single protest from her, the three men strong-armed her into keeping still and obedient, Catelyn trailing behind, holding her sock and her boot. The redhead was shaking her head. “Men complicate the simplest of matters,” she mouthed to Lyanna, following that with a small smile. “Come now, before my good-sister catches her death,” she hurried Brandon along as Benjen shot off in search of poor Maester Walys.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Curious perplexity suffused the patriarch’s expression at the news. Rickard remained staring at his maester, slack jawed and unsure of what comment to make upon it. Rhaegar Targaryen certainly had the form of a man and his daughter had more gumption than most women, but even so. “You are certain?”

“The lackwit and my sister?” The incredulous outburst came from his oldest son. Brandon was still pacing the chamber. “Breeding? By the gods.”

Lady Catelyn was upon her feet by then. “This is good news, my lord, ser husband. My good-sister deserves our congratulations. Why are you all acting as if she is to be buried?”

Rickard released a deep breath, not minding at all the foul language his son used in response to earlier words. His daughter, had assumed, took care of the madman. Never once had it crossed his mind that they’d shared a bed properly. “Of course ‘tis news worthy of joy. Maester, let the others know, bring out the Dornish red. Joyous news indeed.”  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He was still holding her hand rather tightly. Lyanna sucked in a breath, trying not to break down. “Why?” There was no anger in his voice, nor understanding even. He simply spoke. “It is not as if you needed the maester’s confirmation.”

Flinching, she tried to tug her hand away. “Do you not understand?” Clearly he did not; but Rhaegar was kind enough to shake his head just to clarify. “If something happen to this child, now that he is real, how could I possibly bear it?”

Surprise crossed his features. “Why would aught happen to our child?” The grip on her hand softened. “That’s just borrowing trouble, lady wife, and bares no thinking upon. We’ll be careful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
